


futures

by penrosequartz



Category: The Big Short (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Las Vegas, M/M, Money, Pining, Sexual Tension, incredible, there’s even actual sex at one point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 18:10:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosequartz/pseuds/penrosequartz
Summary: In which Vinny Daniel discovers how to make money and simultaneously lose your cool.





	futures

**Author's Note:**

> the only other fix of these two is,,, in russian which i’m learning but like. i don’t know enough to read an entire fic. so.

The first time he hears the phrase “shorting housing bonds”, Vinny’s not really paying attention. Danny’s laughing with Porter about some guy who got the wrong number, and Vinny tends to zone out when they’re making heart eyes at each other and giggling like schoolgirls. So, he snaps his gum between his teeth, and watches the stress emanate off Mark in waves.

“It was this guy from… Deutsche,” Danny begins to explain, “Who was talking about shorting housing bonds?”

Now, _ that _ gets Vinny’s ears to prick up.

“In the middle of the call I realised he had the wrong Front Point, and then- ‘cause he wanted the one on the eighth floor?”

“He wanted to short housing bonds?” Vinny asks, gears in his head already turning. Who the fuck is this guy?

Danny starts talking about how often he gets wrong number calls, but Vinny cuts him off.

“Wait- wait, he wanted to _ short _housing bonds?” He repeats, still perplexed, “Who bets against housing? What’s the ABX at?”

“What’s ABX?” Asks Porter, who appears to be mostly apathetic towards the mysterious caller.

“It- uh, tracks subprime mortgage bond value,” Vinny answers, distracted, “Go back to sleep.”

“The ABX is at…” Danny clicks his mouse a few times, “Wow, it’s down! It’s down three points since last year, that’s weird. I haven’t heard a peep about that.”

Only Danny would use a phrase like “haven’t heard a peep.” It makes Vinny roll his eyes. Porter, however, smiles fondly.

“What was this guy’s name?” Mark asks.

“Jared Venet? Vennett? From Deutsche, sounded very sketchy,” Danny replies.

“Sounds like a douchebag,” Vinny comments, raising his eyebrow at Mark’s considered expression.

Boy, is he right.

* * *

When he finally sets eyes on Jared… well. Vinny doesn’t know what he expected. Classic suit-and-tie, asshole hair, expensive tastes, deep-pockets banker shithead. He’s standing at the window behind Vinny, muttering under his breath like he’s something out of The Exorcist. Is he rehearsing? 

Vinny can feel his presence at his back. He can smell him. It’s not overpowering, but it’s spiking in his senses, and it… actually smells pretty good, but he wouldn’t admit that to anyone. He doesn’t want to give a jackass like Vennett the satisfaction.

Mark makes his way in, and Vinny can see his assessment completed in a flash; Jared is as transparent as the pane of glass he stands in front of.

“Okay, hi,” Mark nods, clearly put off by Jared’s behaviour, “How are you?”

“Have a seat,” Jared turns, walks around the table, and Vinny is struck by how intense he is. It’s his eyes, maybe, or how he stands - either way, it’s weird, and it makes Vinny uncomfortable. Jared’s offsider slides a folder across the table, and Vinny opens it quickly, grateful for the distraction.

Mark, however, makes some kind of insensitive comment, and Vinny’s there to pick up the slack. Unfortunately, that means eye contact. It’s definitely Jared’s eyes. They’re strange, piercing, filled with a manic kind of hunger; they’re different to most eyes of Wall Street, but Vinny can’t figure out how.

“That’s just how Mark is,” Vinny apologises briskly, “Let’s see what you got.”

“Do you smell that? What is that? What’s that smell?” Jared asks, his tone oddly flat. This man is an enigma.

“Your cologne?” Vinny suggests, before he can stop himself, and he doesn’t miss the looks Danny and Porter shoot his way. He refuses to glance at either of them. He does see Jared’s expression though, slightly confused, slightly interested.

Jared turns towards his assistant, who nods with a smirk, “Opportunity.”

“No,” Jared shakes his head, “Money. I smell money.”

“Okay,” Mark sighs, because obviously this asshole is full of cliches and has no idea what he’s talking about.

It quickly becomes clear that, although Jared brought along some fucking Jenga blocks to illustrate his points, he does actually understand the housing market. Vinny starts taking notes. He keeps his eyes on Jared’s face. He can’t look away. Neither can Vennett, apparently, whose eyes keep coming back to rest on his.

Jared starts going off about his Chinese math specialist, with a healthy sprinkling of racism, and Vinny really wants to hate this guy, but he’s gotta give it to him - he’s good. He’s making sense. And if he’s right, he’s going to be making them all a lot of money.

“The banks are too busy getting paid obscene fees to sell these bonds,” Jared hisses out, and it’s his voice, too, that’s drawing Vinny in.

“But- wait,” Vinny interrupts, his brain engaging, “You are the bank. You work for the bank, I bet your margins are pretty nice and fat.”

Hm. He hadn’t meant to say it quite like that.

Jared doesn’t appear to pick up on the innuendo, though, and takes it as an insult.

“Let’s not talk about my margins, by the way, being nice and fat,” Jared gives him a once-over, “That’s a nice shirt, do they make it for men?”

Wow, original. Vinny is going to shove this print-out down Danny and Porter’s throats if they laugh at another one of those jokes.

“Aren’t you the bank?” Vinny asks demandingly, a little hot under the collar at the way Jared speaks, almost monotone, almost crazed. It’s like he’s a money robot, programmed with bad one-liners.

“I work for the bank,” Jared replies, “I don’t think like a bank. Big bank, small bank, I like to make money. Alright?”

Soulless, as well as a bad sense of humour. What a catch.

“When the market deems a bond too risky to buy, what do you think we do with it?” Jared asks the room, but he’s really just asking Vinny. It’s strange, the way he talks, the way he stares at him, the way he moves his hands, the way his eyes are flickering around and simultaneously zeroing in.

“Take a guess,” Jared prompts.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Vinny responds.

* * *

Vinny walks out of the meeting a little spaced out and a little turned on, but mostly suspicious. He watches Jared leave, with the scent of cologne sitting heavy behind his eyes.

“I don’t like it,” He tells Mark, “He’s playing us.”

“What if he’s right?” Mark asks.

“How come you don’t hate this guy?” Vinny fires back, “He’s everything you taught us not to trust.”

Vinny doesn’t ask why he himself can’t seem to hate Jared. Is it his eyes? Maybe his hands.

Mark makes the decision to investigate the supposed housing bubble, which means a) possibly spending more time thinking about and talking to Jared, and b) investigating the supposed fucking housing bubble. Brilliant.

* * *

Porter and Danny go to Florida, and Vinny really hopes they bang, but it’s probably just wishful thinking. Forget the perfect circumstance of years of sexual tension and pining coming to a head on a work vacation - those two are doomed to laugh it off and stare at each other from across the room for the rest of time.

Mark goes after them. Vinny stays at the office, alone, and tries not to think about Jared’s eyes and hands and cologne.

He thinks that his strategy - of just _ not thinking about it _\- could work, until Mark phones him and tells him to “call Vennett, buy 50 million in swaps on the MBS.”

“Mark, are you sure?” Vinny asks, needing an out, not wanting to face either the idea of market collapse or the voice of Jared Vennett right in his ear.

Mark is, apparently, sure, so Vinny heaves a sigh and goes to find Jared’s number.

“Is this America’s angriest hedge fund?” The voice on the end of the line asks, by way of hello. Jared’s out of breath. Vinny tries not to think too hard about that.

“Alright, listen, I got one last question for you,” Vinny says, resigned, “How are you fucking us?”

Jared clicks his tongue, “There’s a nicer way to say that, Vinny.”

He likes the way Jared says his name. He’d like to pin him down and have him say it over and over again.

“No, I’m serious,” Vinny still can’t shake the feeling that something just isn’t quite right, “We’ll buy your swaps. But only if you say how you’re fucking us.”

“I’m not fucking you, Vinny,” Jared tells him, and that’s kind of the problem, really.

“I’m kissing you,” he continues, “I’m looking deep into your eyes as I make love to you, Vinny. I’m handing you the deal of the century on a fucking platter here. What do I get out of it? Easy.”

“I get a 20 million a month negative carry. I got bosses trying to pull the plug ‘cause they think I’m out of my fucking mind. Alright? We make this trade, those problems aren’t so big anymore.”

So that’s what it is, in his eyes, Vinny realises. It’s desperation.

“And sure,” Jared keeps going, “Swaps are a dark market, so… I set the price. Whatever price I want, and when you come for the payday, I’m gonna rip your eyes out, I’m gonna make a fortune. But the good news is, Vinny, you’re not gonna care, ‘cause you’re gonna make so much fucking money. That’s what I get out of it.”

“You wanna know what _ you _ get out of it?” Jared asks, talking into Vinny’s silence like he’s trying to fill up the space, “You get the ice cream, the hot fudge, the banana, and the nuts.”

_ Not thinking about it. Not thinking about it. _

“Right now I get the sprinkles,” Jared says, “And yeah, if this goes through, I get the cherry. But you get the sundae, Vinny. You get the sundae.”

There’s a tiny pause as Vinny runs through Jared’s words, picking at them, looking for inconsistencies. He can’t find any.

“Alright, I buy that,” he finally says.

“Sharpen your pencils,” Jared’s self-satisfaction seeps through the phone, “I’ll get the paperwork ready.”

Vinny hangs up the phone with a sigh.

“Fuck you too,” he says to the empty office, still thinking about Jared’s eyes.

* * *

When Jared asks for collateral, Vinny’s holding a baseball bat, and he really doesn’t want to think about Vennett right now, because he might hit something. The sexual frustration he’s been dealing with has only gotten worse. Jared is a bastard who lacks empathy and is entirely self-serving. Vinny should not be this into him.

Mark asks him to call. He immediately delegates the task to Porter.

Vinny tells them all that he’s going to bash Jared’s head in, and yes, that could be the outcome - either that, or he drags him into the bathroom and fucks him senseless because he can’t get his voice out of his head.

He tells the risk assessors to fuck off, and gets the hell out of the office before Jared appears.

* * *

At Standard and Poor’s, he’s just about ready to explode. Instead of him reining in Mark, Mark has to get _ him _ to calm down. That’s a first. 

By the time they make it out of the building, Vinny feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks him.

Vinny nods, mostly because he doesn’t know the answer to that particular question. He doesn’t know why he’s so jumpy and angry, but he does know who he can trace it back to, who he can blame it on. That person has a tailored suit and very, very expensive cologne.

* * *

When they get back to the office, Vennett is waiting for them. There’s a lot of yelling. After it quiets down, Danny laughs - again - at one of Jared’s stupid jokes. Where’s that baseball bat? Vinny’s going to whack him with it.

“Look at yourselves,” Jared gestures at them, “You know, you pass yourselves off as cynical people, but you still have some faith in the system, don’t you?”

“I don’t,” Vinny interjects.

“Well, except for Vinny,” Jared acknowledges, and there it is again. That connection. That singling out.

“And who gives a shit?” He asks. Vinny rolls his eyes. Jared’s _ jokes _ aren’t funny, but maybe _ he _ is, just a little. Vinny wants to hold him down and make that desperation flare up again. He wants to see it in his eyes.

* * *

Jared greets them in Vegas to brag about his fitness routine, and to tell them to lie low and shut up. Vinny grins when he tells him they’ll play nice. He knows Mark is going to flip out on this trip.

They watch from another table as Mark’s righteous fury exponentially grows, directly proportional to every sentence that leaves the CDO manager’s mouth. Vinny sits directly across from Jared.

He gives up almost immediately on _ not thinking about it, _and opts instead to simply attempt to devote his attention to his food, and to Mark. The food is good. Watching Mark is amusing, and a little anxiety-inducing. If the odd thought about Jared’s mouth drifts into Vinny’s brain, whatever - it’s Vegas.

When Mark walks away from his table to find redemption, Vinny wishes him luck. It’s Vegas.

When Danny drags Porter off to find some award-winning ice cream place, Vinny hopes they get drunk and accidentally marry each other. It’s Vegas.

When Chris, Jared’s assistant, goes to the bathroom and doesn’t come back, Vinny hopes he’s stumbled into a strip club and is having a good time. It’s Vegas.

All of this leaves him alone with Jared at their table, fidgeting with his serviette and sipping at his drink. When Jared asks if Vinny wants to head to a bar he knows, just around the corner, Vinny shrugs, and nods. It’s fine.

It’s Vegas.

* * *

“For a guy who claims to be transparent, I can’t read you very well,” Vinny tells him over his drink, over the noise in the bar, over all of the topics of conversation he could have chosen.

“That sounds like a you problem,” Jared checks his phone, “If it makes you feel better, I can’t read you very well either.”

“Nobody can read me very well,” Vinny says, flatly.

“So, you’re saying other people can read me, but you can’t?” Jared asks, smirking a little. No expression seems to last on his face for more than a second. In contrast, Vinny supposes that his own face barely expresses anything at all.

“I don’t know,” Vinny replies, and maybe it’s the world economy threatening to collapse, or maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, but something gives him the courage to continue, “You give out mixed signals.”

“Oh, really?” Jared asks, “Tell me more.”

“I haven’t needed a smoke this badly since the nineties,” Vinny’s glass thuds solidly against the bar, “I think you stress me out. Because I don’t know what you want.”

“Ah,” Jared nods, “That explains the gum. You sure it’s not the threat of global economic failure that’s stressing you out? Besides, I told you what I want. I want to make money.”

“That’s it, that’s your entire philosophy?” Vinny asks, incredulously.

Jared pauses. 

“Okay,” he concedes, “I like money, because I like feeling alive. I like to drive fast and fuck hard, you know?”

Vinny grins. He’s always had a great nose for bullshit, and finally - _ finally _\- he can smell some on Jared.

“Really?” Vinny stands, steps closer, leans into Jared’s side, into his space, brushes up against his suit, and whispers, “Because you seem like a guy who wants to _ get _ fucked hard.”

Jared jerks back slightly, but he shivers, and closes his eyes for a moment. When they open again, that spark of desperation is back. 

They go to Jared’s hotel room, because it’s nicer, but also because Vinny is rooming with Mark, and that’s not a conversation he’d like to have at the moment. Or, you know. Ever.

* * *

“Holy shit,” Jared gasps out when Vinny kisses down his neck, pressing him against the now-closed door, unbuttoning Jared’s shirt, untucking it, messing him up, “Oh, fuck me.”

“That’s the idea,” Vinny murmurs, “Shirt off.”

Jared shrugs it to the floor.

When they finally make it to the bed, Jared’s pupils are so wide Vinny feels like he might trip and fall into them, down into the soul of the writhing, pleading man beneath him. It would be easy to pretend this was a one-off, purely physical thing, but Vinny knows that isn’t true. They’re connected through time, through life events, through personality and profession, but most importantly, they’re connected through the almighty American dollar, the greatest motivator and greatest pain-inducer of them all.

Vinny spends some time just trying to make Jared scream. He works him up over, and over, stopping just before the tipping point, and when Jared finally falls over the edge, Vinny makes sure he sees every inch of light behind Jared’s eyes.

“I fuckin’ hate you, you know,” Vinny tells him afterwards, “You’re a huge wanker.”

“I wouldn’t have to wank so often if you called me sometime,” Jared hands him one of his business cards off the bedside table.

“Fuck off,” Vinny says, but he takes the card anyway.

* * *

When it all falls apart, when they sell, when they all get filthy fucking rich, Vinny watches Porter ask Danny on a date. He’s sure it’s a date. He really hopes it’s a date, so he doesn’t have to suffer through more office-based romcom bullshit.

He calls Jared. They spend their payoffs on an all-night bar and a hotel room. He’s an asshole, but so is Vinny, so it’s alright, really.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m panicking a little because i don’t know if it’s vegas or if they went somewhere else. it WAS vegas, right?? i don’t even remember


End file.
